Sinner, Have Faith
by Soulhearts
Summary: He screams bloody-murder as he flails frenziedly and bolts brutally upright, throwing the sheets off him as he makes a grab for a knife he suddenly remembers is no longer under his pillow. Steve, who had apparently been clinging to Bucky like a starfish, frantically jerks awake as well. Bucky has a nightmare, but it's okay, because Steve is there.


―Sinner, Have Faith―

 _The world drifts in and out of focus_ _and_ _the bright specks of light that rush over his head are all he can see. He's moving, but_ he's _not moving,_ _someone is moving_ him _and he's sure they've got him so drugged up that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between his feet_ _. There's some_ _one_ _pulling him, or pushing him, taking him somewhere, somewhere dark, somewhere he can't remember, but he knows what's going to happen once he gets there. They're going to take his mind away from him again, they're going to burn every ounce of him, lobotomise him with their electricity and their needles. They're going to remove his control from his mind_ _and replace it with their own_ _._ _He's scared. They only burn the bad stuff out of him, he knows. The stuff they don't want, the stuff he doesn't need. It's scary, but The Man always says it's necessary. The Man has changed again, it's a different man, but he's still in control._ _The Man has had many faces over the years, but he knows that behind the face, there is nothing but lust for power and control, so he's learned to disregard the face and simply look at The Man under the skin, because it is the same man. The same desires, even if the goals are slightly different each time._

 _He can't help the tiny whimper that works its way out his mouth, it's his fear, something they will burn out of him when they reach The Room, but he feels a hand rest on his forehead and hears a hush and this is different… this is never how it goes. Soft words are spoken. He knows they are spoken in his mother-tongue, but for the life of him he can't remember what the name of his mother-tongue is. He hones in on the voice, tries to make out the words, but he can't make out very many. Only one out of about five. Sometimes other voices speak, but they are not in his mother-tongue, they are different. He knows he can understand the words, but his mind won't let him put them to their meaning. His mind is drowning and it doesn't remember how to swim, they took that too. It's easier for them if his mind can't remember how to stay afloat when they burn it, it makes it so much easier for them, it makes him easier to program, easier to handle. There was a time he could almost_ swear _he tried to fight them when they started to drown and burn his mind all at once, but perhaps that had merely been a wish, a fantasy. He likes to believe he was brave, once. He knows he isn't, but even when they burn his mind, that particular fantasy always seems to return to him. He remembers the things he locked away in the fantasy. It's his secret though. Something he learned to do a very long time ago, because they can take his memories, erase his mind, but they haven't yet figured out how to take his dreams. He doesn't have time to dream, not really. They're inside his head most of the time, but if he's awake for more than twenty-four hours, the dream returns with flashes of red and blue, polar opposites. He's sure that, if given time, the dream would set itself free and he'd be able to see more than just it's cryptic message of red and blue. The colours make him think they must be the start of something and sometimes, like now, he can almost see faces and hear names. Except that's why they're burning him. They know. Even though he hasn't said a word to them, somehow, they just_ know _. Things come back to him and that's why he knows they're in his mind, because how can they know when things come back? How can they know that the dream is bleeding into his mind?_

 _They make it to The Room. He can tell because everything is suddenly_ different _and he can feel his heart-rate start to climb. They undo the straps keeping him down but, hell, he hadn't noticed they were even there at all. The whole world is flickering around him, the haze making him wander in and out until he's sure he's strapped to the table and fuck, there's something in his mouth he hadn't even noticed he'd been given and then the thing that burns, that takes away the control he has over his mind, is closing over his head and suddenly he knows how fast he's breathing, he's hyperventilating which is not helping his situation, but he can't even care as it locks into place. He's about to burn, he knows he'll be okay when this is all over but it's so painful, and he can't help screaming into the gag they've given him. He can't help but cling to the red and blue fantasy until it disappears, along with every else._

* * *

He screams bloody-murder as he flails frenziedly and bolts brutally upright, throwing the sheets off him as he makes a grab for a knife he suddenly remembers is no longer under his pillow. Steve, who had apparently been clinging to Bucky like a starfish, franticly jerks awake as well, the violent action plus the noise, startling him from sleep.

" _Bucky!_ " He yells scrambling to reach for his face, words blurred and swirling with sleep. "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay…"

Despite Steve's soft words, words that usually slam him back into reality and calm the tempest that is his mind, he's having trouble calming his breathing. He's hyperventilating. He needs to run, he has to get out of here, but Steve's holding him, gentle arms grounding him. He struggles to breathe and he knows he could throw Steve off and the man would let him go, but he can't do that. Not to Steve. So he clings to him instead and Steve takes that as his cue, clutching him tighter as he lowers them back to the bed.

"Just lie back Buck. I'm here, I'm here, you're gonna be okay…"

He clings to those words just as desperately as he clings to Steve, and the man holding him presses a soft kiss to his temple, continuing to whisper reassurances in his ear as he slides one hand over his waist and one over the stubble along his jaw.

Slowly, everything seems to come down. His breathing, his heart rate, his fear―they all drop one by one until he's quite certain he's operating between normal parameters again. He twists onto his back and stays that way, letting Steve adjust himself back into his clingy starfish position. Yet, even after half an hour of laying like this, Steve still hasn't gone back to sleep and lies just as wide awake beside him as he did when he first bolted up.

"Go to sleep, Steve." He finally manages to croak toward the ceiling, voice hoarse from doing nothing but scream himself awake every night. It's the first thing he's said to Steve all day because most days he can hardly remember how to string words together. For some reason though, that hardly seems to matter to Steve, who lights up like a Christmas tree at hearing his voice.

"Only if you do." He hears.

With a wry smile, he turns his head and meets Steve's eyes, shinning with all the glee he's sure Steve had as a kid―not that he can really recall much about either of them as children. He's got a smug grin spread across his face too.

"Alright." He agrees, closing his eyes, but trying to keep the nightmare from resurfacing.

Twenty minutes later he hears Steve's voice again.

"I know you're not asleep, Bucky."

His eyes snap open again and he looks straight at Steve, whose forehead has become creased into a frown.

"Are you actually going to go back to sleep tonight?" Steve asks, running a hand through Bucky's hair.

"Probably not."

Steve sighs as he reaches over to the bedside lamp, flicking the switch and filling the room with a soft, amber light.

"You want to talk about it?" Steve asks him, rolling onto his stomach and ducking down to press a soft kiss to his flesh-and-blood bicep. The action isn't really sexual, it's simply supposed to be comforting, a message to let him know that Steve is ready for whatever horrors might be bouncing around inside Bucky's head.

This time it's Bucky who sighs, but its barely audible.

"Not really, but I'll have to at some point, won't I?" He doesn't mean it as a question, it's rhetorical, more of a statement really.

Steve's frown only deepens and he runs a free hand through Bucky's scruffy locks, another gesture supposed to bring him comfort, he surmises.

"I'm not going to make you do anything, Buck, not until you are sure you're ready." He says, gently fiddling with the hair trapped between his fingers, playing with it.

"I'm just not sure I'll ever be ready… You'll be waiting forever." He mutters, more intended for his ears than anyone else's, but Steve doesn't let it slip by unnoticed.

"If forever is how long it takes, then that's how long I'll wait, okay?" Steve says, something more desperate, more earnest working it's way into his voice. "I won't make you, Bucky. I'll be here if you need me, I'll lend you my ear, my support and my strength, whatever you need."

He leans his forehead against Bucky's shoulder and entwines their fingers, pressing little kisses onto Bucky's arm.

"Yeah…" is all he can manage, eyes still fixed on the ceiling above his head.

He decides, in the end, after about fifteen minutes of silent debate in his head, weighing up the pros and cons, that he owes it to Steve to at least _try_. He'd rather tell Steve than anyone else, that's for sure. He's been talking to the shrink, but they've made practically zero progress because Bucky has trust issues. Steve's different though, he trusts Steve. Implicitly. He knows Steve and he _knew_ Steve―two very distinct concepts in his mind―but he figures that if _both_ of him can and _do_ trust Steve, the best person to speak with, is him.

"I―" His throat seizes up and he has to swallow hard to clear it, but Steve heard him and has shifted his eyes back to Bucky's, who is still resolutely looking towards the roof. "I just feel like… like a _ragdoll,_ you know? I'm being tossed, back and forth, and I just don't know which way is up anymore, Steve… I don't know what's right and what's wrong. I…" he turns, finally meeting his eyes. "I need your help, Steve. I _need_ you to tell me what to do! _I need you to tell me if what I'm doing is right or wrong because I just don't know anymore!"_

Steve curls a protective arm around Bucky's chest and pulls him in closer, planting a solid kiss on his lips.

"Bucky," he whispers, a smile in his eyes. "This, right now, this is good. I know this isn't easy, you're afraid you'll make a mistake and everything will fall apart, but Bucky, that's not going to happen, you know how I know?"

He shakes his head, dearly wondering how Steve seems to have so much faith in him when he's nothing but a wreck.

"Because you, James Buchanan Barnes, are a _good_ man. If a time comes where you have to choose between what is right and what is easy, I know what you'll choose."

Bucky pulls a pained face as he turns away, rolling over, ripping his gaze from Steve's.

"But you can't knowthat," He whispers, pain and fear lacing his voice. "You don't _know_ that."

"I do." Says Steve firmly, wrapping his arms around Bucky like a koala clinging to a tree. "Because you _are_ a good man, HYDRA just took your ability to see that."

"They didn't just take my ability to see it, Steve." He snaps. "They took it altogether. Whatever you _think_ you see in me, you're wrong. It's not there anymore. I'm not the man I used to be, I'm… _broken_."

Bucky's voice cracks on his last word and Steve can almost feel his heart breaking.

"Oh, Buck," He can't help but mutter under his breath as he squeezes him from behind. "I know you can't see it now, but I promise you, I'm gonna help you see what _I_ can see. I'm going to show you that the man you think is gone is still in there somewhere, we just have to find him. _Together_."

~fin.


End file.
